


reasons not to die

by awesomeaislin



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Canon Compliant, Depression, M/M, References to Depression, based on reasons not to die by Ryn Weaver, kind of uplifting though if i do this right
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-05
Updated: 2019-08-24
Packaged: 2020-04-06 21:15:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19070818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/awesomeaislin/pseuds/awesomeaislin
Summary: Simon Snow is lying on the sofa. He has been for such a long time that at this point he's not sure he remembers how to live a normal life. Not that he's ever lived a normal life.Things aren't okay. Here are some of the steps along the way to something...better.Nothing perfect. Just something better than a sofa.Inspired By Reasons Not to Die by Ryn Weaver





	1. Royal Hitch

**Author's Note:**

> So! I have been obsessed with this song lately! Just fricken obsessed, and I thought it would be a nice break from a longer fic that i'm working on intermittently. Anyway, it might be kind of sad, but also kind of uplifting
> 
> You can follow my tumblr @awesomeaislin and let me know what you think.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A surprise party gone awry

_I'm sorry the party you threw for me_

_Was met with such a royal hitch_

_I'm a bitch, I don't mean to be selfish_

**SIMON**

When I walk into the flat all the lights are off, which is odd. Penny and Baz should already be here. And despite Baz’s proclivity for lurking around in the dark, I doubt he would go through the effort of making me jump. He’d much rather lurk around on his phone, so that when I find him he can look unamused at my presence. He might even throw a sneer into it if he’s feeling especially cruel.

Also, he wouldn’t want to scare me at all. He and Penny have been treating me like a porcelain teacup lately. The kind of thing that you wrap in an especially thick layer of bubble wrap when you move houses.

Sometimes I think that I might feel better if they would just treat me normally. Like maybe I’d feel less like I’m holding them back if they would just treat me more like a person and less like a puppy with one leg. Maybe they would treat me less like cracked glass if I could actually hold it together like a normal person.

Anyway, I find it unlikely that the apartment would be abandoned at 3 pm on a Thursday. This is prime time for Baz to pull out his sugary mocha drink, and Penny should be drinking her tea. They should be drinking on the sofa and arguing about some weird magickal fact from the 1300s. Or some nuanced verse of Shakespeare. Or maybe something as dumb as whether half a five hour energy gives you 2 and a half hours of energy or 5 hours of half-arsed energy.

Sometimes when we go out in public (on days where I manage to put on a pair of trousers and move away from the sofa), people turn to me as we’re leaving and say, “Good luck.”

I’ve been standing in the dark doorway for a couple minutes which is kind of dumb. I mean it’s my own flat. Any person would flip on the light and just go in, but I don’t know. I just kind of like it like this. Knowing noone can see me, and not being able to see anything. It’s kind of freeing.

I sigh and flip on the light. Might as well bask in the quietness.

“Surprise!”

And it all happens at once. It’s blinding. It’s overwhelming. It’s... Baz, and Penny, and Agatha, and Micah, and Dev, and Niall, and... a cake, and streamers, and...

I don’t know how to...I can’t...

I open and close my mouth trying to say something. Anything. I didn’t even remember we were near my birthday, but I look at our calendar and sure enough it’s June 21st. I don’t even remember telling any of them when my birthday was. 

“I...I...I,” I sputter, and I think I’m even crying. I'm ruining this.

I rush out of the room and into my bedroom.

I just need a minute. Just a second to breathe. It’s too much all at once. It’s so lovely and nice, but I just... can’t.

There’s something wrong with me.

I throw myself under my covers, even though I know I’ll overheat almost immediately, because I just feel like I need _something._ Some kind of protection.

I bury my face in the pillow and I just cry and cry and cry. Until what feels like seconds later, but is probably more like 10 minutes, someone knocks on my door.

“I’m okay,” I yell at them and my voice cracks _just_ to undercut my point. Not even my body is on my side anymore. It’s ridiculous.

I hear the door open anyway.

And I feel a gentle touch through the blanket where my head is. Which means it’s Baz. Penny would have just thrown back the covers and given me some inspirational speech and I would be up and socializing instantaneously. Surprisingly Baz is gentler. He handles me like I’m something precious, and not something broken and wrapped in duct tape.

He pulls up an edge of the cover and climbs in next to me quickly placing the duvet back over us. My eyes have adjusted just enough to make out his face. He looks concerned, so I bury my head into the crook of his neck. I don’t want to have worried him.

“I’m sorry,” He says.

I can’t imagine what he’s sorry for. He’s done nothing wrong, and if anything all he’s done is try to do something nice. He and Penny have brought all my friends into one place to celebrate me.

I don’t know how to tell him how I’m feeling.

I don’t even know how I’m feeling.

It’s just so much. And it’s so thoughtful, and they shouldn’t waste their time and money making me happy. They shouldn’t spend so much of their time trying to make me feel better.

I just feel so... empty. No not empty. Something else. Spent and tired, and unable to handle anything. Every good gesture and nice moment just turns around to tell me I don’t deserve it and everyone will see that and everyone will leave. And I’ll be alone. Again.

“No,” I tell him. “I’m sorry.” I’m still crying and I sound pathetic. I don’t know why he stays with me when he knows he can do better. He keeps telling me and telling me he won’t change his mind, that he’s in love with me, that he wants to spend his time here with me whether I’m expressionless on the sofa or high energy dancing.

He doesn’t say anything. He just wraps his arms around me and holds me close. “It’s okay, love.”

“It’s not,” I say. “I ruin everything.”

“No you don’t,” Baz says and he kisses the top of my head. “You haven’t ruined anything.”

“I’ve ruined the party you planned. I’ve made everyone feel awkward. No one can even eat the cake because I stormed off,” I roll my eyes, even though I know he can’t see it.

“You know, Simon,” He chuckles. “There’s a famous song that says something along the lines of, ‘ _It’s your party, you can cry if you want to.’”_

And I laugh despite myself.

“There we go,” He says and I can feel him smile into my head. “Really Snow, we’re all alright with it. We all know what you’ve been through, and we all know how difficult this is. Besides, even if they weren’t alright with it, Bunce is out there right now threatening to murder them if she finds out they’ve judged you.”

“I don’t deserve you.”

It’s true. And it feel nice to say it outloud. To get it off my chest.

“No, you don’t.” He says. “You deserve much more. You deserve anything in the world you want.”

I don’t argue. There’s no point arguing. He won’t agree with me, and he’s a good arguer. I should know. We spent our whole childhoods fighting.

“We should go back out there,” I tell him.

“We don’t have to.”

“Is there pizza?”

“Of course there’s pizza, we’ve actually met you before, Snow,” He snaps.

I push the covers off me and I stop in the bathroom to wash my face a little. I look wrecked. Oh well.

I go out into our living room where everyone is already digging into the boxes of pizza. I grab four slices and sit down next to Penny. She reaches over and squeezes my knee.

“I’m a disaster,” I admit outloud.

“So is everyone,” She smiles in what I assume is supposed to be a gentle way. Penny isn’t really that great at a gentle smile. She just kind of looks constipated.

I roll my eyes at her. (She’s told me before that she thinks Baz has been a bad influence on me with the amount of eye rolling I do at the minute.)

“Seriously, Simon,” Agatha chimes in from across the room. She’s wearing a pretty green wrap dress, and her makeup is perfectly applied. She doesn’t have a single blonde hair out of place, honestly, if anyone at this party is comfortably not a disaster, it’s her. She’s always been flawless. “I once had a mental breakdown on the treadmill at the gym. And everyone just stared at me as I cried and cried for like an hour. And I didn’t even leave the gym until I was done.”

I give her a small smile.

“Yeah, don’t worry about it Snow,” Niall says. None of Baz’s friends can bear to call me by my first name. Even though they  come over at least once a month. “Once I got stuck in an elevator at uni, and I was so panicked and squeaky that the fireman on the phone said, ' _We’re doing everything we can,_ **_Ma’am,_ ** _we’ll get you home safe.’”_

Everyone giggles. And there are teardrops in my eyes again. Baz sits down on the floor against my legs, so I squeeze his shoulder gently.

“Baz, surely you have an embarrassing story to share,” Dev prompts.

“Of course not,” He says and I can tell he’s sneering again. “I have never done anything embarrassing in my life.”

“Of course not,” I laugh.

“I’ve got one,” Micah says instead. “I once accidentally sent a _MILDLY_ frisky text meant for Penelope to my mother, and I couldn’t make eye contact with her for like two weeks.”

“What about when I met your mum for the first time and I was so so so nervous, and I panicked so much I said ‘Hi, I’m Micah.’,” Penny giggles.

And we just go around like that for the rest of the night, and yeah I shed quite a few tears, and I know at the end of the day I’m still not alright, but I feel content and warm and I want to savor it.

I don’t want to think about tomorrow when I wake up and inevitably feel like shit and I decide that I don’t deserve anything at all. I don’t want to think about what happens next time I have a breakdown and make a giant public scene. And I certainly don’t want to think about what to do when they all eventually leave me.

I just want to sit here with my friends, and have a little moment to look back on when everything goes back to shit.

 

_You rolled out the carpet to watch it catch fire_

_It's just another Thursday, my party_

_I cried like I always do, oh oh oh_

 


	2. mess (that was me)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simon makes a big mess while no one's home, and like all his messes, Penny is there to clean it up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, while I am definitely working my how to lose a guy in 10 days fic, this is just another thing to do (I certainly have the time.)
> 
> My plan is to finish this and then go back to the other fic. 
> 
> Let me know what you think!!

_Flew here to help clear the mess that was me_

_Made up of fear and self-hate_

_A stalemate with he-who-shall-not-be-named_

**SIMON**

The week is going well. Well, I guess it _was_ going well.

(At minimum it was going well to my standards. (Penelope says my standards are too low) I went out for a run twice. I _cooked_ dinner on Wednesday instead of going for microwavable. I slept on my bed every night even if I wanted to stay on the sofa, and even if the thought of sleeping alone in the flat makes my stomach turn.)

I know Penny and Baz were nervous about this. Leaving me here alone, but they both had to leave town this week. Micah had an important event in Scotland, and Penny wanted to meet him there. And Fiona said she needed Baz’s help in Prague.

They didn’t want to go. Or, rather, they both wanted to go, but they were scared to leave me alone. Even though we’ve (they’ve) figured out a spell for my wings that always lasts the entire week. I heard them talking about it when I’d gone to bed and came out to have a drink of water.

And I just couldn’t hold them back like that. I shouldn’t hold them back like that. And I couldn’t just go along with Penny. I’m not going to follow her and Micah and ruin a romantic meeting. And I can’t go with Baz because I’m not a mage anymore. It’s too dangerous for me to go there.

So I told them they should go, and they both looked at me like I was out of my mind. _Maybe I am out of my mind_. But it doesn’t matter because I made a big show of smiling and telling them about all the things I could do with them out of the house.

“I’ll finally get a chance to watch some Doctor Who,” I grinned. Neither of them can stand it. “And neither of you can yell at me when I mess up the kitchen trying to make scones.”

So they left, and I was right, It _was_ going really well. I watched three seasons of Doctor Who. And I did finally make scones that are actually alarmingly close to Watford’s. I spoke to my therapist this morning and I was feeling really good. I ordered from a different takeaway every night except for Wednesday when I made pasta. I like to think if they were there to see it they would have been proud.

But now... well now. I don’t know. I was taking a shower. And then I was sitting on the floor of the tub. And then I was crying. Until the water got cold. And then even after that. For ages. Until I convinced myself to get out and I wrapped myself in a towel and just sat on the floor. For ages. Even after my fingers stop looking at

I don’t know how long I sit there just crying, and it’s not like it’s one thing. It’s not _because_ Penelope and Baz aren’t here. It’s everything. It’s everything that happened last Christmas, it’s the pressure to make sure this week went well, and, _yeah,_ Penny and Baz not being here certainly isn’t great.

And then I get angry. I throw on my trackies. And I stomp through the flat almost like the dragon my extra parts resemble, but just stomping around doesn’t really make you feel any better. But do you know what does?

I grab one of the sofa cushions and throw it across the room. And then I grab the others. And then I knock over the sofa. And then I grab anything I can reach.

I keep going like that throwing anything I can find, until my phone rings, snapping me out of it before I can throw a plate at the floor. (I’ve already gotten to a glass and a mug, but at least the plate is safe)

“Hey, Penny,” I say as normally as I can muster.

“Simon,” She says. There’s something off about her voice. Maybe I’m just too amped up and hearing things that aren’t there. “Is everything going alright, there? Are you alright?”

“I... yeah,” I look around the flat. “Yeah, I was just-” And then I start crying again.

“Simon?” She says.

“It’s okay,” I assure her even though it certainly isn’t. I don’t know if I can even clean this up before Baz gets home on Monday. Maybe I should just bite the bullet and hire some kind of cleaning lady. (Is there an app for that?)

“I’m coming home.”

No. _No._ No. I can’t let her do that. I can’t take over her life like this. She needs this time with Micah. She shouldn’t put her entire life on hold for me. If anything she should have probably already moved with him to America by now. She should be starting her life, not babysitting me.

“No,” I say. “Penny, stay where you are. I’m okay.”

“Simon,” She argues in that tone that tells me to shut up because she’s right, and she won’t be changing her mind. “I’m coming home. I’ll be there as soon as I can. Make yourself a cup of tea and watch a movie or two.”

And then she hangs up before I get a chance to argue.

(She and Baz both have a bad habit of doing that. They don’t seem to understand that most people say goodbye on a phone call. Or, no, they both understand it. They’re just both so intent to get the last word in. Annoying know-it-alls the both of them.)

Anyway, because I can’t do anything else, but wallow about how I’m ruining Penny’s life I start following her directions. I mean that’s what I normally do when in doubt. Penny normally knows best.

A cup of tea. That’s what she said to do first...but I can’t find the kettle. I must have thrown it somewhere. But I don’t remember it. I look around for a few minutes before I find it and I’m so relieved it’s not broken. I think I broke a few glasses and a mug and a bowl, but that’s ok. It’s all replaceable. But Penelope loves this kettle for some reason. And I’ve already ruined her trip.

I make my tea and I sit on the floor near where the sofa would be. It’s not worth the effort to reassemble the sofa. I really don’t have the energy for it right now. I also don’t have the energy to focus on a tv show, so I don’t. I just sit there and drink my tea and go through my phone.

Baz has texted me twice. Which means something is serious (Baz doesn’t double text ever, he’s much too cool to break those social norms, or so _he_ says), I’m sure Penny phoned him before she got to the airport.

 **BP:** Is everything alright, Snow.

 **BP:** Call me.

I do as he says too. (It really does help to have such bossy people in my life.) He picks up before the first ring is even finished.

“Snow.”

“Hi,” I say. It’s nice to hear his voice. It’s been kind of quiet around here. I even miss the constant arguments and snark.

I should have called him earlier. But I didn’t want to get in the way of his life. All the badass stunts he and Fiona have probably been up to, would probably be significantly less badass with a ringing cell phone and a pathetic boyfriend.

“Rough week?” He asks.

I’m sure Penny told him to keep me occupied until she got there.

“Something like that.”

“Anything I can do.”

“Just tell me about your week.”

And he does. He keeps talking and talking and talking (It doesn’t seem like he had a great week either) until the front door swings open, and I tell him goodbye.  

Penny looks around, and then immediately bursts into tears.

“Oh, Simon,” She whispers. She hasn’t even let go of the doorknob yet.

I get up as fast as I can. Already crying again. (You'd think I'd run out of tears eventually, but I guess not)

“Penny, I’m so sorry,” I start. “I’ve ruined your holiday, and I should have just... I shouldn’t have.”

“Simon,” She says again and I don’t know what she means by it. She looks around the apartment again and she’s crying even harder now.

“It’s okay, Penny,” I try even though I’m hardly the picture of emotional stability. I would try to comfort her, but I’m not very good at hugs. Or comforting in general. It’s one of the many ways I feel useless lately, I’m always taking comfort from others but when they need it from me, I can’t be there.

It’s worse that this is all my fault. If I had just not gotten so upset, if I had just stopped myself from tearing the place apart, if I just hadn’t picked up the phone and worried her, then she wouldn’t be here now. She would be happy with Micah.

Even Baz would be happier if I hadn’t picked up the phone, he wouldn’t need to worry about me.

“I can hire someone to clean it,” I promise. “I’ll fix this.”

“It’s not this,” She says, and she leans over to pick up a broken piece of glass and goes to throw it away before she frowns. “Can we throw away glass?” She wipes some of the tears away from her eyes, but she’s still crying so it’s not that effective.

“I know Pen,” I say. “It’s everything. I’m so sorry that I’m ruining your life. I ruined your holiday. And I keep just dragging you down.”

“No,” She says again. “It’s not you. It’s me.”

“Are you breaking up with me?” I force a chuckle trying to lighten this situation.

She just shakes her head and moves into the living room and sitting on the now cushionless, turned-over sofa. She folds her knees up and buries her head in her hands. Her face is red and splotchy. She’s crying so hard that her breath is coming out uneven and messy.

When I get like this, Penny tells me to take deep breaths and count to ten. She sits with me until I can count without gasping.

But I don’t do that. I’m crying too much to do it successfully.

I put my hand on her shoulder.

“I’m sorry, Simon,” She says.

“What do you have to be sorry about?”

“It’s just... there’s no much going on, and Micah and I are just so distant, and I love him but he’s always so far away, and I don’t want to move, but I don’t want to ask him to move, and after what happened at Christmas everything has just seemed so... out of my grasp,” She says quickly. “I’m so sorry. I know you have it so much worse Simon. I know. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t say that,” I tell her. And she throws her arms around me.

“I just can’t keep it all together anymore,” She admits. “I just keep slipping and slipping. And sometimes I feel like can’t breathe. But sometimes I feel like there’s too much air to handle. I’m sorry, Simon.”

“Penny,” I say. “You need to stop saying sorry.”

“I’m sorr-” Penny starts before cutting herself off. “Simon, I just wish I could do more for you.”

“Penny, it’s not your job to take care of me.”

It isn’t. Or at least it shouldn’t be. But at the same time, if she didn’t, what would happen? More days like today I suppose. But who’s there to take care of her?

“I know.”

I can feel her tears soaking through my shirt now. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her really cry like this. She didn’t even break down like this after last Christmas. She just went straight into overdrive of trying to help me: setting me up with my therapist,  feeding me healthy food, taking me to the gym with her (even though she hates the gym).

And I don’t say anything for a while because I don’t know what to say. I just hold onto her. I just keep her grounded. What do I even say? All of her problems boil down to me. If I weren’t here, she wouldn’t have been traumatized last year. If I weren’t here, she could just leave to be with Micah. If I weren’t here, she’d have time to focus on herself.

“It’s going to be okay,” I promise even though I don’t know I believe it. Maybe things would be better for her if she just left with Micah. “It’s going to be alright.”

When she finally controls her breathing, she pulls away and looks at me and her eyes are red. She wipes her nose on her sleeve. “It’s going to be alright,” she agrees.

“Maybe you should talk to someone,” I say.

“I’m talking to you.”

Something in my chest clenches. Sometimes I forget that as important as Penelope is to me, she values me just as much. Even though I’m completely messing up her life, and I spend most of my time wallowing on our sofa, and, when I’m not wallowing on the sofa, she’s whining about how I keep snogging my vampire boyfriend on the sofa, she loves me.

Just like I love her.

“I mean someone who isn’t an emotional disaster,” I chuckle. I pull her back into another hug even though I’m shit at them. Baz complains about it all the time (he says he doesn’t like hugs anyway, but mine are especially torturous (I think he just likes complaining)).

She doesn’t fight me. She just slumps into me. And we don’t keep talking.

And we _definitely_ don’t clean up the mess.

(There is an app for that)

_You tried and you cried, confessing your grip was slipping_

_Couldn't help me, you held me, the shadows began to fade_

  
  



	3. Ranting And Raging

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simon Snow is A Mess. A Mess you has to make decisions. He doesn't always cope in constructive ways.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I'm working hard to get this done too and edit all the chapters (so they aren't trash) lmk what you think

_Here's to the ones_

_The renegades who never run_

_Despite all of my ranting and raging_

**SIMON** **  
** I’m tearing apart pieces of paper when Baz walks in. He doesn’t even flinch. It’s another note about the Mage and his inheritance and whether or not I’ve decided what to do with it yet. _I don’t want it._

But Dr. Wellbelove keeps telling me I should do something with the money. “After all you’ve been through, Simon, you deserve to have your education and your life paid for.”

It feels wrong to take the money of the man you killed. No matter how you slice it. No matter how bad of a person he was. No matter what he did to your boyfriend’s mother. No matter what he tried to do to your ex-girlfriend. No matter what he tried to do to _you_. It feels wrong.

And I don’t need to be reminded of it. I don’t need them to send me a note every month telling me the money is still sitting there. That the Mage’s house is still sitting there. (It’s bizarre to think of the Mage as having a house. A couple of years ago I would have killed to see that.) It’s not as though I’ve forgotten. And, despite what Baz says, I’m not completely thick.

And today I saw the note in the mail and I just started shredding it to pieces.

“Snow,” Baz says.

He asks questions without really asking them. He’s asking what’s happening and whether I’m ok. He doesn’t like to say anything that might show how much he cares. He’s odd like that, but I’ve known him long enough to know.

“Baz,” I say because two can play this game. I’ve never conceded to him before and I’m not going to let a little bit of trauma stop me now. If he wants the answers, he’ll have to ask.

He drops his book bag at the door. (It’s ridiculously fancy. It looks like it costs more than a month of my rent. Posh git.) He takes off his shoes. And he pulls out a chair next to me at the kitchen table. He doesn’t live here, but it feels like it does.

“Are you training to become a human paper shredder?”

I give him a look, and he glares right back at me, but he reaches up to push some of my hair off of my forehead. He loves my hair. He doesn’t say it but I know he does. (Once I said I was going to cut it and he had a full mental breakdown. He didn’t talk to me for _two_ days. (He’s extremely dramatic.))

“Did they send you another note about the Mage’s money?” He asks.

“They did,” I say.

He grabs one of my hands and kisses it.

He shouldn’t be this sweet to me. Not when he comes in and sees me being crazy. He shouldn’t be this loving after everything he’s seen of me. He should run. He should get out while he still can.

I think about it a lot.

I think he and Penny are both way too stubborn to run. Sometimes I think they’re only still here because they said they would be. That they don’t actually want to be here anymore. They _should_ run. I wish I could.

He and Penny shouldn’t have to see this, but it’s almost like they choose to. Like when they signed us all up to do a boxing class, and then watched me unhinge on a punching bag. And they didn’t even bring up how crazy I had been. They never bring up how crazy I’m being.

“Can I just say no?” I ask him. He frowns at me.

“It seems like a waste,” He says honestly. He’s rubbing patterns into the back of my hand.

“But I’m not using it,” I argue.

“You can do what you want with it, Snow.”

“But I don’t want to use it!”

I know he thinks that if you have access to money you might as well take it. And I know he thinks that if I had more money I might have less problems. And I’m sure he’d have a field day if he could take me out to get clothes from the fancy places he actually likes, but I don’t want it. Any of it.

(Besides, the clothes he keeps pushing on me that he pretends he just had laying around are fine. (I hate that he does that as well, but it’s not like arguing with him works.))

Or maybe I would want it one day. Money that is. But I would want that money to be mine from me, and not from the man I killed. I’m not going to just take it this way.

“That’s not what I mean, Simon,” He sighs like I’m being thick. Like I haven’t spent months thinking about this. Like I don’t know anything.

I pull my hand out of his grip, “No, I don’t want to use it for _anything_. I don’t want to use that money because I shouldn’t. Because I killed him, and I shouldn’t reap any benefit from that.”

“Still not what I mean, Snow,” He says. “And if anything Bunce killed the Mage. It was her spell.”

“Baz, I’m not going to touch that money,” I tell him.

“Simon,” He sighs again. Like dealing with me is something he should be being paid for. Maybe I should just give _him_ the money. Let him add that to his already overwhelming fortune. I’m sure it wouldn’t make much of a difference to him.

“No, Baz,” I say and then I start ranting. I don’t remember much of it (any of it). All I know is he doesn’t interrupt, and I kind of just spiral and spiral until I’m babbling about nonsense. Absolutely nothing of value. But he listens and he listens until I stop.

Then he takes my hand again, “Simon, listen for a moment. No interruptions?”

“Fine,” I concede, “But only if you don’t talk about usi-”

“I think you should use the money,” He interrupts me.

“Baz,” I groan.

“But not for yourself. I think you should give it to a charity. I know you don't want to use it for yourself. But you shouldn’t just give it to whoever is next in line, so they can spend it on themselves. You should take just enough for your education, and then you should donate the rest.”

“Oh,” I say.

“It just an idea,” He says, looking away. We both do that. Look away when we say something real. I don’t think it’s much of a problem. “You can do whatever you want.”

“I’ll think about it,” I promise.

Penny comes in and drops her stuff next to Baz’s.

“It’s not serious kitchen table discussion time, is it?” She asks. “After that class, I hardly have the mental capacity to deal with that.”

Baz doesn’t bring up the money, or the pile of shredded paper in front of me. He just sits quietly and lets me stew.

**PENELOPE**

Even though it brings out the madman in him, I think the boxing bootcamp we go to is good for Simon. Which is why Baz and I try to get him here two or three times a week. I mean maybe it would be better to talk to him or something, but Simon has always been better at processing emotions through bashing and smashing.

Or at least I usually think the boxing bootcamp is good for Simon, but right now I’m not so sure. Every punch he throws punctuates a point in his rant.

“And Baz thinks,” He grunts as he lands his fist on the bag. He pants, and then swings again. “That I should just...” He swings again. “Give away the money somewhere.”

“But what if...” He says. His face is bright red, and it’s kind of odd that he’s having a harder time with this class than I am. I mean this isn’t like a standard thing for me. Or it didn’t used to be. Anything to help a friend, I suppose.

Also, I think this class helps me as well. Maybe Simon is right about punching and bashing. Or maybe exercising is just biologically an endorphin release. Either way.

“What if I donate...”

 _Smack_.

“To the wrong thing.”

_Smack._

“What if.”

_Smack._

“It’s a waste.”

He stops. His hand rests against the punching bag, and he pants. He sits down against the chalk wall and grabs his towel and wipes it against his face. He doesn’t let it go through he just keeps grasping it.

“First,” I begin. “We’re not done with the set yet.” I land some weak punches against my bag. (When Simon is in a good mood he spends the whole class just laughing at how bad at boxing I am.) “Second, as long as you research it well, I’m sure you will pick a worthwhile charity. But, Third, You really don’t have to do anything right this moment.”

He stands back up and takes a quick drink of water. “But they keep sending me letters.”

“So what?” I say. “We get a cable bill every month and you _never_ pay any attention to that. You never even look at the paper and that shows up in the post literally every day.”

“Yeah, but it’s from a bank asking me what I want to do, and then I start thinking about it, and then I cycle back to everything bad that’s happened,” He says. He kicks the bag with his shin and he doesn’t even grunt. Simon has always been a born hero.

“Simon, just ask them to give you a year or two,” I say. “Just call the bank and tell them you need a year to think about it. Or don’t and give it away. Or keep some of it.”

 **SIMON** **  
** Penelope says things like they’re easy.

And to be fair, they would be easy for her. She makes decision making look easy. She makes everything look easy. (Well everything except for boxing.) She always knows the right thing to do, and she always does it as soon as she thinks of the right solution.

One of the many reasons I’ve stuck around her for so long is that she feels perfectly comfortable just taking control and telling you what to do. Honestly, most of the time my life is only on track on account of her guidance.

But not today apparently. Apparently there are some decisions that ‘ _you just have to make yourself, Simon.’_ Also, apparently she legally can’t tell the bank what I want to do because she isn’t my guardian and I am not a child anymore. And also it's apparently ' _The Law'._

Even after we leave the exercise class, the money stays on my mind. I don’t want it. But giving it to whoever’s next in line feels wrong too. Maybe I should _just_ give it away. I could give it to a children’s home, but how can I be sure they would spend the money on the kids. And who's to say that whoever is next in line doesn’t deserve it?

I find it hard not to blame the Mage for it, but there’s no point aiming anger at the Mage. He isn’t here to yell at. Why couldn’t he have just spent his paychecks instead of sitting on his hoard of money like a dragon in a fantasy novel?

There’s no point being angry at a ghost.

I’m still thinking about it when we get home as well. Baz is sitting at the kitchen table which isn’t much of a surprise. He’s always here. Honestly, I’m surprised he even pretends to live with Fiona anymore.

“Oh, Baz, what a surprise,” Penny snaps sarcastically.

She likes to pretend she’s annoyed that he’s here so much, but I know secretly she likes it. She likes having someone to have intellectual debates with, and, sure, she could facetime Micah, but the time difference. And Baz has always been, and will probably always be, very  clean and tidy. He does more cleaning than either of us. (Every once in a while he organizes our bookshelf in alphabetical order by author and she loses her mind. (In a good way.))

He just rolls his eyes in response.

He likes to pretend he thinks he’s above us, but sometimes late at night when he’s being soft he admits that he feels completely honored to be able to spend time with Penelope and I. To be even remotely worthy of seeing that.

It’s bullshit of course. He is every bit worthy to be here. I’m the one here who is holding everyone back.

“Good workout, Snow?” He asks without looking up. Although, I know if I turn away he’ll watch me. He’s always watching when he thinks I’m not looking.

Sometimes he comes with me to the workout class, and although he looks incredible exercising (he has these shorts that just...they’re just... I can’t even describe it) I kind of like Penelope coming with me more. Baz is just so athletic that when he comes I can’t help but feel like some lazy couch potato. At least with Penny I feel like the slightly less humpty of two dumpties.

“It was pretty good,” I say.

“Oh, Penelope, did you have a nice class?” Penny mocks. “Sometimes I swear it’s like you choose to pretend _I_ don’t live here.”

“It’s not pretend, I’m well aware,” He says. “I just genuinely don’t care how you did at the class. Although, I can already tell just by looking at you, that you hated it and it was too hard for you.”

“Fuck off,” She says as she fills the kettle with water. “Tea, Simon?”

“No thanks, Baz?”

“I didn’t offer Baz tea,” She complains.

“And yet you’ll still make me one,” He chuckles.

She rolls her eyes at him. (But makes him tea anyway.)

**BAZ**

Simon is making his ‘deep in thought’ face. It’s kind of a cross between constipated, in pain, and trying to build IKEA furniture.

It’s one of his uglier faces, and yet every time I see it I desperately want to kiss him.

He’s probably still thinking about the money even though it’s been a couple days. I think I made it worse by telling him he should donate it. Normally he would have moved on by now, and I’d just wait for it for another note to arrive next month and emotionally destroy him.

I shouldn’t have told him. If I hadn’t he wouldn’t have spiraled.

He’s sitting at the edge of his bed staring at nothing. So I lie down beside him even though it’s only the afternoon, and hardly the time to be going to bed. I pull him until he’s laying down next to me.

“Baz, I haven’t taken a shower yet,” He warns.

I shrug. I hardly care about his sweat. If anything, I might be just very slightly, minorly, negligibly, inconsequentially... into it. (Because I’m disturbed. Ask anyone.)

I pull him into my arms and he frowns at me. “Seriously Baz, I’m gross,” He complains.

“I really don’t care,” I tell him, and just to prove my point I lick his cheek. He makes a disgusted face at me, but I can feel him starting to smile.

I might not be able to solve all of his problems, but I am good at distracting him from them. I plant a kiss on my favorite mole on his neck.

“You’re out of your mind,” He says, but he places his hands on my waist and pulls me as close as he can.

“Obviously,” I say and I kiss his eyebrow. “I would have to be to put up with you, you nightmare.”

He moves his face so that it’s hidden in my neck and grins like he thinks I can’t feel it. “You think I’m handsome, and you want to be around me all the time,” He murmurs.

“Unquestionably,” I roll my eyes. “I can think both of those things, and still think that you’re a walking travesty.”

**SIMON**

“You’re right about the money,” I tell him. Or more accurately I tell his neck, but I know he can hear it anyway.

“I’m always right,” He says, but his voice is soft, and he presses a kiss to my forehead. He’s such a softy. It’s amazing he ever got away with playing the villain.

“I’ll take enough to get me through school, and then I’ll donate it to a children's home or a foundation for children’s homes, or something,” I say. “I don’t know the specifics yet, but I am going to call the bank tomorrow and tell them I want to keep the money.”

He squeezes my hand and pulls me as close to him as he possibly can. “Thank god,” He mutters. “I thought I was going to have to call the bank and pretend to be you just so they’d stop sending letters.”

“That’s a felony, Baz,” I tell him, and he chuckles.

“I’m a villain,” he reminds me. “I’ve got to make sure to ruin your life just a little bit, or you’ll get complacent. Now that this has fallen through, I’m going to have to tie your shoelaces together and watch you trip.”

“You bastard,” I giggle. I kiss his cheek and he smiles in a way that tells me he’s trying not to, but can’t fight it off.

“Darling,” He says and he puts his serious face back on. I don’t know how he can control his face like that. “I’m proud of you for making a decision.”

“It should have taken me less time.”

I should have been done with this months ago. I should have known what to do after the first time the bank wrote me. I should’ve known what to do the minute I heard about the money. I _really_ should have known what to do after Baz _told_ me, instead of spiraling.

I shouldn’t have wasted so much time worrying over it.

“Yes,” He agrees. “It should have taken you less time. It was the obvious solution. But you are exceedingly thick. It’s honestly a miracle you figured out a decision at all. But you came to decision eventually, and you can be sure it’s the right one.”

I shove him. “You’re being mean.”

“It’s part of my charm,” he rolls his eyes. I kiss him even though I probably shouldn’t reward him. He’s such a git. A handsome. Soft. Loving. Evil. Git.

“Seriously, Snow,” He says once I pull back. “It’s been a rough few months, but I think this is a step in the right direction. It’s a long struggle, and it’s hardly all fixed, but you’re making progress.”

He speaks like he was written in a novel one hundred years ago. He’s such a dork. A colossal nerd. Wi

I decide to reward him again, despite myself, (too many rewards and it will all go to his head, which is already ridiculously large), “Thank you for not pressuring me toward a decision even though you knew the right thing all along.”

“Simon, we’d never cage you in. You deserve to make your own decisions. We aren’t just going to fix your life for you,” He says. “You have far too many problems for that. You’re such a disaster I doubt it would even work. If we tried to fix you, you’d just ruin it all to spite us.”

I roll my eyes at him, but kiss his sharp cheekbones anyway.

“Seriously, Snow, you are massively annoying.”

I kiss his jaw.

“A stubborn bastard.”

I kiss his neck.

“Incessant moron.”

I kiss his collarbone.

“Utter oaf.”

And we keep going like that until he’s out of insults. Okay, who am I kidding? He’s never out of insults. But he does stop when I press my lips to his. And that seems like some kind of victory.

Git _._

 

_Here's to the ones_

_Who hide the bullet from the gun_

_Foot down on all my bullshit but won't cage me in_


	4. a screw's loose

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simon Snow is lying on the sofa. Despondent. Catatonic. Baz and Penny continues the life around him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! I'm gonna get this all posted before I go on my holidays! Or at least thats the plan! We will see! Life happens, you know! I have most of it written at least!

_Despondent, catatonic suicide queen_

_By now I know a screw's loose or too few_

_Or worse there's too many_

**BAZ**

Simon Snow is lying on the sofa.

Again.

I thought maybe we were passed this phase, but here he is again. Catatonic, lying on the sofa, silent.

We had a really good few weeks there, or as good as the weeks could be. Sure, there were a few bad days, but they weren’t quiet days. I think there’s something reassuring about a loud mental breakdown. At least you can see and hear all the hurt. At least you can combat it.

A loud bad day is at least patently clear about what’s going on. It’s the difference between being poisoned and being shot. At least everyone can hear when you get shot. At least everyone knows and the police get called in time.

But these quiet days, where he doesn’t say anything and he doesn’t make eye contact and he won’t even grumble (I love Snow’s grumbles.), I don’t know. There’s just something worse about them. They feel so helpless. Like he’s a million miles away and no matter what you do, he’s not coming back.

Of course, he will come back. I know that. He always comes back. No matter what, he’ll come back. He’s Simon Snow. But, when he’s like this, it just doesn’t feel that way. It feels completely futile. It feels like he’s gone.

And I know in my head, that none of this is my fault. And none of this is Bunce’s fault. But it feels like we’re failing him. He’s done so much for us. For the whole world of mages. And it feels like we’re falling short.

She doesn’t say it, but I can see it on her face. She’ll spend the day either sitting near him reading and sneaking concerned glances at him, or she’ll spend time in the kitchen trying to cook something that smells good enough to wake him out of this. (It never works. Bunce is a terrible chef.) Sometimes she puts on one of his favorite shows and watches quietly. Sometimes on especially long quiet sprees, she’ll leave for the day provided that I’m here.

Today is one of those days, she wakes up and she looks at him, and then looks at me. She doesn’t say anything. She just grabs her backpack and her laptop charger and leaves. She’s still wearing her flannel pajama bottoms.

That’s okay. I don’t blame her for that. If anyone deserves a break it’s Bunce. I know this weighs on her. It certainly weighs on me, and I don’t even live here full time. I mean, I am here most of the time, but she’s here _all_ the time. And seeing him like this is draining.

But she trusts me to stay here with him. Just as I trust her when I can’t be here.

I know better than to go into the kitchen and bake him some scones. Even his appetite won’t get him out of this. Baking would only set me up for disappointment when it doesn’t change anything. I’ll be lucky if I can even get him to eat today.

Instead I grab my book, and sit down on the sofa next to him. I place his head so that it’s resting on my leg, and he doesn’t resist me, so I run my fingers through his hair. It’s gross and greasy ( _when was the last time he took a shower?),_ but I don’t stop.

I don’t know that any of this helps. But it doesn’t hurt.

He won’t talk about it when he snaps out of it. Maybe he talks about it to his therapist, but he doesn’t like to talk about it to us. Sometimes he apologizes, but we don’t really ever let him get very far in that. He has nothing to apologize for.

I finish my book around noon. Normally, Simon would be bashing around in the kitchen looking for lunch right now. I put my book down and go to the kitchen to see if I can tempt him with anything to eat.

I dig around to the back of the cupboard until I find Bunce’s hidden stash of treats. (You have to hide the best snacks or else Snow will sniff them out and devour them in the middle of the night.) I come out with some cadbury fingers, an aero, and some prawn cocktail crisps. I suppose it’s not much of a well balanced lunch, but, if there’s any day for a chocolate and crisp lunch, today it is.

I don’t really know how to go about getting him to eat any of this. In order to eat he’d have to acknowledge his surroundings. But that seems unlikely. Sometimes we get lucky by just placing the food in front of him and waiting it out. It’s not like trying to talk him into it works if he’s not listening.

So I place the food in front of him on the coffee table, and then go to the toilet to take a shower. I didn’t bother showering before I came here this morning because it was meant to be my day to force Simon out to do some exercise. I was going to take him to the park to play football. (Because I like to watch him get more and more frustrated trying to beat me until he eventually gets so annoyed that he just grabs me and kisses me so hard I see stars.)

I take my time in the shower because it’s not like he can get into a big mess in this state. Or not a visible one. At least when he’s loud, his messes are noisy and noticeable.

Simon Snow has always suited a very public disaster.

(Disaster really brings out his eyes.)

When I come back into the living room, he’s drank the glass of water I left out for him, and picked at the aero. It’s not much, but it’s something.

He’s still catatonic. So I grab a book out of Bunce’s room. (I don’t much care about intruding in her personal space, and, besides, everyone knows she’s keeps the best books hidden in her sock drawer.) I sit his head back onto my lap and run my fingers through his hair again.

I mean it probably doesn’t help him to do this. But it helps me. To feel like I’m doing something for him. To know that when he comes out of his haze, he will have me here to hold him while he cries, or to laugh at him when he does something ridiculous. So I’ll stay. Even if it doesn’t change anything. Even if he never leaves the sofa again.

Bunce comes home around dinner time with bags of takeout. Enough that if Simon were to eat with us, even _he_ probably wouldn’t be able to get through it all.

Maybe she thought he would be out of it by now. Or Maybe she thought that the smell of curry chip might be enough to rouse him on its own.

Either way she joins us on the sofa. She places a takeout box in my hands and gives me a plastic fork. (On a normal day, Simon might stop to lecture her about the environment.) She places a box in front of Simon, but he doesn’t even blink. She moves Simon’s legs so that they’re in her lap as well.

It’s a kind of sad domestic scene. But we’ve done this a lot, and it doesn’t even seem that weird anymore.

She doesn’t say anything, and I don’t either.

We sit until it’s well passed dark and all the food is cold.

Until I’ve fallen asleep.

**PENELOPE**

I thought maybe this kind of day was behind us. We hadn’t had one of these in weeks, and Simon was looking better. He was so much more lively.

I thought maybe we were getting to something normal.

Well actually, it’s hardly normal. I don’t know that I’ll ever be able to call Simon and Baz’s interactions anywhere near normal. Watching Simon make breakfast on a Saturday morning, while Baz mocks him until he just kisses him to shut him up is really an experience I doubt would occur in any version of a normal life. And I especially don’t think normal is walking in on them snogging on _my_ sofa.

So it isn’t normal. They aren’t normal. This weird little family is not normal. But it was at least pretty happy. And if anyone deserves a happy ending it’s Simon Snow.

But we still have days like this.

And I know that that’s just the way things have to be. That trauma doesn’t just go away. And that this is just going to happen sometimes.

But it’s still disheartening. To see him like this.

Part of me thought maybe Baz could fix him before I came back. It’s hard to admit that sometimes Baz coaxes Simon out of his head better than I can. Sometimes he needs Baz more than he needs me. It’s okay. There are some days where he needs me more than Baz. And, honestly, I don’t know that I could get through this on my own.

But I knew logically that even Baz wouldn’t actually be able to get him out of this. On days like this there’s nothing either of us can do. We would know. We’ve collectively tried almost everything.

(At one point, I even tried pinching his arm. Just to snap him out of it. Like waking up from a dream, but it didn’t work.)

I think the best thing for him is just to let him sort it out. We’ll stay here and look after him, and he’ll come back when he’s ready.

I go back to my own room at about 2am. Baz has already dozed off, and he looks uncharacteristically messy. He’s still sitting straight up though. He must be really tired to be able to fall asleep like that.

I wrap a blanket around Simon, and without thinking I wrap another around Baz. Honestly, I’m so glad he’s not awake because I couldn’t deal with the snark that comes with me taking care of Baz.

I close the door to my room and resolve to make Simon some scones tomorrow. Even though the smell is unlikely to bring him out of the haze, it’s the thought that counts, right?

**BAZ** **  
** When I wake up, Bunce is gone and Snow has crawled further into my lap. And my shirt is wet. And I can hear sniffling.

It takes me longer to wake up enough to realize Simon is crying into my shoulder than I care to admit. I wrap one of my hands around his back and run the other through his curls. I pull him closer into me.

“Hey, love,” I say. The sleep in my voice is evident. “It’s going to be alright.”

“I’m sorry,” He sobs. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for, darling.”

“I’m wasting your time,” He says, and he tries to push his head further into my neck.

“Simon,” I say because I want him to know I’m being serious. “I was going to spend the day reading whether or not I was here. I did everything I intended to do yesterday.”

“And you don’t think you’d be better off without me?”

“I don’t think I’d even be alive without you,” I tell him. I place a kiss into his hair. “Besides, I love you even when you’re despondent. For better or worse. It wouldn’t be right to be here for the best day and not the worst.”

If he thinks all the bad days are enough to erase the good, he’s mad. I would trade 1000 of his bad days for one good hour.

He makes a noise that sounds alot like another sob. But he doesn’t argue. Which is for the best. I don’t want to sit here all day being sappy. It would really ruin my whole reputation.

“Thank you,” He says instead. “For being around.”

“Please Snow,” I chuckle. “It’s much too early to be this sappy.”

“Thank you,” He sighs. And then he kisses me. Tired and sloppy.

It’s perfect.

**SIMON**

One of the things I love about Baz and Penny is that they never make me talk about it, but I know the quiet days weigh on them because when I start talking again Baz is always too nice to me and Penny keeps trying to stuff me with treats.

I know it’s hard for them. I know it, and I still put them through it. And I don’t want to be a burden on them (I am, but I don’t want to be.), but there are days where I just can’t. Days where everything is just... I just shut down.

I hadn’t had a day like that in a while, and I thought maybe that was it. I don’t know why. In hindsight that was pretty dumb. But then again, Baz does like to tell me I’m an idiot.

Even though I’m a complete pain to be around, Baz and Penny are still here despite it all. I know they worry. They worry so much. Though neither of them will never admit it. Baz is much too proud of that. And Penelope likes to pretend that nothing worries her.

I hope when the dust settles they don’t regret this. I hope at the end of this they don’t look back and think it was a waste. I mean it probably is a waste of their time. But over and over again they insist that it’s not. Over and over again the assure me they know what they’re doing.

**PENELOPE**

When I wake up in the morning, Simon is draped over Baz on the sofa. I don’t know whether to celebrate that he’s out of his head, or yell at them for ruining _my_ sofa.

Honestly, maybe I should just burn the sofa.

Baz seems to think fire is the solution to everything, and maybe it is (at least in this case). If I incinerate the sofa, Simon won’t have a place to go despondent. And I won’t have to walk in and see them making out.

At least it’s just cuddling this time. Not an intense disarray of forgotten clothes and telling marks on skin. Even they can’t get up to that much in their sleep.

I sigh and then go into the kitchen. I did promise myself I would make Simon scones no matter how much he insists on mentally scarring me.

I guess it’s almost comforting to see them like this. At least Simon is out of his head enough to be absolutely disgusting. I also know that Simon feels safer when he’s attached to Baz. And I know that Baz ultimately wants Simon to be happy.

It took a while to get used to that. I mean I know they were on a truce before this whole thing. But there’s a big gap between sworn enemies on a shaky truce and overly affectionate boyfriends fornicating on a sofa _I spent money on!_

But I’ve seen the way Baz looks at Simon, and I suppose that it does cast a different light on our time at Watford.

(Sometimes it unsettles me how Baz can have been in love with Simon for years and also spent years tearing him apart, but if Simon is into that then who am I to argue?)

By the time I pull the scones out of the oven, Simon is awake. Or maybe the smell of baked goods woke him. The latter is way more likely.

He rubs his eyes, and takes the cup of tea I push towards him. “Morning,” He grumbles. He goes to grab a scone and I swat his hand away.

They’re much too hot to eat now.

He frowns at me.

“They need to cool,” I tell him.

He reaches for one again and drops it when it’s too hot. I roll my eyes at him, but it’s impossible to hide my grin. It’s so good to have him here.

_But of course, the dark horse_

_You bet all in stride_

_I hope I'm not a regret, I see sweat_

_I'll fight to the finish line_


	5. i see the edge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simon Snow is stuck in his bed, and Baz and Penny find a way to cope

_ And I get so stuck in my head _

_ Lost in all the lies, nihilistic backslide _

_ And when I can't get out of bed _

_ And I see the edge I'm slipping from the ledge _

_ And praying to gods I don't believe in for a sign _

_ Some reasons not to die _

**SIMON**

I shove them out of the room without saying anything, and then I slam the door. 

 

I lean back against it until I’m sitting on the floor. I pull at my hair, and try to bite back from screaming. I don’t even know why I feel like screaming. I just need to think. 

I have to...I need to...I just need a minute. 

 

Baz and Penny don’t try to reenter the room. They know when to leave me alone. 

 

Well, I’m not even sure that I do want to be alone, but I’ve basically ensured I will be by shutting the door on them. They know the signs, and they know when to piss off. And though Baz has spent years pushing my boundaries, even he won’t disturb me when I push him out and shut the door. 

 

I just get so stuck in my head all the time. It’s like the after effects of trying not to think for so many years has finally caught up to me, and now all of my thoughts demand to be thought constantly. All the time. 

 

Sometimes I just shut off rather than keep thinking. I think someone needs to tell my brain to stop. To just calm down. I just want to breathe. 

 

And even after all this thinking, I can’t believe everything that’s happened. I can’t believe how wrong my life has been. How wrong it’s become. 

 

Almost everything I was told was a lie. The Mage said he needed me to save the World of Mages, and not I was the one destroying it. I was supposed to be the chosen one. And though I guess I was chosen for something, it certainly wasn’t saving the world. 

 

And the worst part of all of it is: I can’t even ask him about it. I can’t ask what he was going to do that night. I can’t ask why the only way for him to stop hurting me was to die. Because I murdered him. 

 

I know I wasn’t convicted of anything. And Penny cast the spell. And nothing I said should have had that effect. But I did kill him. There’s no turning around from that. There’s no undoing it. 

If It did get undone, I don’t know what I’d ask. What would you say to that? ‘I’m sorry I murdered you sir? But could you just explain to me how you kept telling me you didn’t want me manipulated, yet apparently spent 8 years  _ just  _ manipulating me? Do you even feel sorry? Why me?’ As if I could get through something like that.

 

I can barely talk on a good day. I don’t think I’d be able to get through an emotional confrontation. Not that it matters. There’s no going back. 

 

‘Use your words.’

 

That’s what people always say. Always. But what good have words ever done for me? When have words ever helped any situation I’ve been a part of?

 

Other people find it so easy. Baz and Penny can just talk for hours and hours and hours about wild and random things. They argue over teeny tiny details constantly. And I can’t even get through a simple sentence without suffering. 

 

And fuck school presentations.

 

The last time I had to give one of those my leg shook so hard I nearly fell over, and I finished 8 minutes early. And my professor gave me this look of pity. I hate that look.

 

I don’t want pity. Pity does me no good. And it just makes me even more angry.

 

Especially when I’m at home. Baz and Penny do it all the time when they think I’m not looking. Or sometimes they do this thing where they feel especially bad and they just give each other a look.

 

That look makes me want to throw a chair, but I don’t because that would make it worse. 

 

Then they would really know just how crazy I am. 

 

Not that they don’t already know. There’s no hiding it. They’ve seen me screaming and crying, and they’ve seen me lie on the sofa for days. They’ve seen it. They know I’ve lost my marbles. They know I’ve got a screw or two loose (maybe five? ten? or maybe there are just too many screws? is that a thing?). They know my lights are on, and noone is home. 

 

It doesn’t always feel like I’m here. Or it feels like I’m here, but I’m strapped in a small corner of a prison cell covered in soundproof foam. Like someone is knocking at the door, and even if I wanted to, I couldn’t go open the door. And they can’t hear when I scream.

 

I don’t really want them to hear me scream anyway. I don’t want to worry them, or make it worse for them. 

I know I’m not the only one who’s been struggling. I’ve seen the way Penny gets tense whenever there’s a knock at the door, and I’ve seen the imprints her nails leave on her palms from clutching her hands so tight. I’ve seen the way Baz flinches as soon as the lights go out, and I know the first thing he does after a nightmare is check my pulse to make sure I’m still there and still breathing (or if he’s at Fiona’s that night, he hops in an uber as fast as possible).

 

I don’t want to be the thing that’s ruining their lives. That  _ has _ ruined their lives.

 

If Penelope hadn’t insisted on being my friend, she’d have graduated from Watford. And I’m sure she’d have gone to uni in the US with Micah. And she’d have probably proposed to him already, and invented a spell to stop time. 

 

I don’t know what Baz would be doing. I’m sure it would be something incredible and mysterious. The kind of thing that would gain you millions of instagram followers. (He only has thousands now.)  He’d be doing something worthwhile. He wouldn’t be wasting around with me. 

 

And I know it’s probably pretty early to say their lives are ruined. I mean they’ve got plenty of time. (We don’t even know if Baz will live forever.) They could turn it all around if they’d just leave. I’m certainly ruining their right now. 

 

I mean I kicked them out. I slammed the door. And if Baz doesn’t feel like leaving, he’ll have to sleep on the sofa. And Penny doesn’t know what to do when I shut them out. She likes control, and that’s really not at all what this is. 

 

And I know I shouldn’t. I know I should just ‘use my words’ and I should just talk to them, but I can’t. I just don’t have the energy for it right now. Or ever. 

 

I don’t even want to think about it. My therapist says it’s unhealthy to do that, and she doesn’t like the argument that it makes things so much easier. I got a real pity look over that one. And it turns out once you start thinking it’s so hard to stop. 

 

It’s just starts and then it doesn’t stop. It’s like if you turned on a tap, and then it immediately broke and you couldn’t stop it. Or like a dam breaking, but it was such a big dam and there was so much behind it that it just kept exploding and causing damage to everything around it. Or it’s like a fire when you let it keep going, how it overtakes everything around it and keeps growing until there’s nowhere left to grow.

 

I hate it. I want it to stop. I just want to shut my brain off. But I can’t. 

 

And I hate it because I thought that as time went by things were supposed to get easier. I keep thinking that a few more weeks will go by and then it will all be over and I will never have to think about it again. 

 

That we can all move on. 

 

That we can have some kind of happily ever after. The kind we’d get if this were a kids book. Isn’t the chosen one meant to have a happy ending?

 

But it hasn’t happened. It’s bullshit. 

 

I get up and pull myself into my bed. 

 

I wonder if the classic fairytale ending would even be better. I mean I don’t think anyone would write Baz into my happy ending. Would I end up with Agatha? In some happy little house in the country where no one has any emotional damage at all.

 

But even if I didn’t go through last Christmas would I be happy? I mean it’s not like I had a model upbringing. Sometimes my therapist tries to get me to talk about all that, everything before Watford I mean. But I try to avoid it. 

 

I don’t want to talk about before Watford. 

 

I don’t want to think about it. 

 

I don’t want to think about anything.

 

I just want to go to sleep. 

**PENELOPE**

When Simon gets like this, there’s no arguing. 

 

It’s hard not to take it personally. I mean he just specifically doesn’t want us to help him and doesn’t want to be around us. It does  _ feel  _ pretty personal. But I know it’s not. 

 

I’ve been speaking with a counselor about it. Not Simon’s counselor, but a normal counselor. It’s just that I don’t mention the whole magical part of it. I just pretend that Simon lost his foot. It still helps since therapy is more about what you feel. 

 

I don’t know if Baz has gone to see a counselor. I haven’t brought it up to him. I’ve heard Simon try and persuade him to do it. And if Simon can’t convince I don’t think anyone can. 

 

I once saw Baz try a scone that Simon forgot to add sugar to just because Simon pouted at him. 

 

I also don’t bring up that Baz is a total softy because I personally don’t feel like being burned alive. (Baz would never use his fangs to commit a murder, but fire is definitely his thing.)

I go into the kitchen and leave Baz by the door. I put the kettle onto the burner and wait for it to boil. Then I fill two mugs with tea and bring one over to Baz and keep the other for me. I don’t say anything, and he doesn’t say thank you. 

 

I go back to the living room and Baz follows. I sit down on the sofa and he sits down next to me even though I know he prefers not to. Or he  _ says  _ he prefers not to. He also  _ says _ we’re not friends. He’s a liar. 

 

“It’s going to get better, you know,” I tell him even if I don’t really believe it. I think sometimes if you say something enough it becomes true. That is how you create a spell.

 

_ It’s going to get better. It’s going to get better. It’s going to get better.  _

 

Plus I think he needs to hear it. Hell, I think I need to hear it. 

 

“It hasn’t so far,” Baz says without looking at me. He’s got his phone out, and he’s pretending to scroll through his instagram feed. I don’t know how I know he’s pretending. His face never gives anything away.

 

“Yes it has,” I say. Because it has. 

 

We’ve made progress. He’s made progress. I’ve seen it. 

 

“Yes it has,” Baz agrees. 

**SIMON** **  
** Sometimes, when it’s like this, when my brain won’t shut up, when I’m figuratively trapped in my head and literally trapped in my bed, I wonder what it would be like to just stop. To just not exist. 

 

And, don’t get me wrong, I don’t want to die. 

 

Of course not, my whole life I’ve been working for the happy ending, and I’m not just going to throw it away now that this Chosen One bullshit is over with. 

 

But sometimes I think about what it would be like to just not exist. To not think. To not move. To not talk. I wonder what it would be like to just float. (I don’t even know how to swim.) To just close my eyes and not be there.

 

Sometimes being in my brain feels like being trapped in the wavering wood. Like there are trees everywhere and every tree is something else to analyze. But, if you spend time on one of the trees, then you forget about all the monsters lurking around. And then the monster attacks, but even when you win you’re still just trapped in the forest. I wonder if I’ll ever be out of the woods. 

I wonder if my brain will ever be a safe space to be. If I’ll ever be back to normal, or maybe not back, if I’ll ever be normal at all. 

 

I wonder if I’ll ever even get out of bed again. I don’t know. The pillow is comforting. And then blankets are heavy. And I feel so consistently weak. 

**BAZ** **  
** Bunce leaves the room for a couple minutes and comes back with her duvet and one of her sweatshirts. 

 

She hands me the sweatshirt and then glares at me until I put it on. I mean I am always cold, and it’s a gigantic sweatshirt on her, so I’m sure it will fit me fine. And really I am so, so cold so I don’t complain.

 

She throws the duvet over me and then sits right beside me so that it’s covering her too. I don’t mention that either. It’s  _ her  _ duvet, and she doesn’t have to share it, and she certainly doesn’t have to stay out here with me. 

 

She turns on the tv, and puts on one of the baking shows that Simon loves. 

 

I know Bunce mostly cares about Simon, and she’s doing this to help herself just as much as she’s doing it to help me, and that she doesn’t even really count us as friends (at least not officially), but it’s still comforting to have her here. 

 

I’ll never admit it, but she’s become one of my best friends. She’s the only person out there who maybe cares about Simon more than I do. She’s the only one who would lay just as much on the line for him. 

 

I dig under the sofa and pull out one of Snow’s secret aero bars. 

 

I hand half of it to Bunce. 

**SIMON**

Sometimes I wonder if there’s anything out there. Something bigger than us. I don’t know. It’s hard to believe that there’s a God out there. But I can’t rule it out. I mean what do I know. I’m just me. People can believe whatever they want to. I’m not going to change that.

 

If there was a god out there though, I think I’d want to ask them why everything that has happened to me has happened. Why he had let all the bad things come to be. But maybe he’d just spout some bullshit about how everything happens for a reason.

 

That’s what everyone does. It’s a nightmare.

 

I think the ‘everything happens for a reason’ thing is mostly just an excuse so people feel better about themselves.

 

I’m not religious at all. I mean it’s not like I was raised on religion. The group homes sometimes were very religious, and sometimes they weren’t. But it was really just another bullshit thing I had to do (or didn’t have to do). No one ever explained any of it for me. And I don’t exactly think that there’s someone up there watching everything. 

 

I’m not religious, but sometimes on the darkest days I pray to any religious figure I can think of. Jesus, the Buddha, Zeus, Obama, Ellen, Captain America.

 

I don’t really know how you pray, but I assume it’s kind of like hoping. Just addressing a hope to someone. Anyone. 

 

And I’m not asking for much. Really. Not much at all. I don’t ask for World Peace. Or for World hunger to end. (Though maybe I should wish for those things. Maybe I’m being a selfish prayer.) I just want some kind of sign. Something that says that things will get better. That life is still worth it. 

 

I want to enjoy the little things. I want to go to the park with Baz and hold his hand and listen to the birds. I want to feed the ducks with Penny. I want to play a board game with them and watch them argue until I just flip the board and let them shout at me. 

 

I don’t want to spend days yelling, or crying, or trapped in bed. 

 

I also want to enjoy the big things. I want to go to uni and not worry about having a breakdown in class and I want to graduate. I want to go to Penny’s wedding and cry over how pretty she looks (and I want to watch Baz cry over how pretty she looks). I want to get married and be able to stand up in front of a bunch of people without crying. 

 

I know it’s unrealistic to want it to all stop. To just erase the trauma. And so I don’t ask for that. But I’d like to be strong enough to bear it. I’d like to be able to get through this. 

 

So on the rare occasion that I do pray. That’s what I ask for. 

 

I ask for some sign of a future to come. A future worth looking forward to. 

 

I’ve cried so hard that I need water. I don’t want to, but I do get out of bed. Even I know that wilting away with the door locked without water is the dumbest thing I could do. Besides, Baz and Penny would kill me if I died. 

 

I open the door and go into the kitchen as quietly as I can. I know there’s a large chance that Baz is asleep on the sofa, and I don’t want to wake him up. He needs all the sleep he can get. A nice long break from me. 

 

I fill up my glass and take a drink. I look out at the living room, and...

 

There they are. 

 

Baz and Penny asleep on the sofa with the TV still on. Penny’s head on Baz’s shoulder and his arm around her. 

 

I smile despite myself. 

 

I guess I got a sign after all.

 

_...and there you are _   
  



	6. here's to my friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simon gathers the gang for a do-over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YEs it's been a while! YeS I wrote this all today! Yes I had a plan in my head but then got kind of bored since I've had no time since not being at schooL! It's fine! Totally fine! 
> 
> Anyway I would've made it longer, but it accomplishes what I want it to.

**SIMON** **  
** The fog doesn’t just clear up at once. Or at all. 

It’s not like one day I just wake up and the clouds have cleared and everything is ok. It’s not. Maybe it never will be. 

But you have to carry on. 

And even if I’m not doing it for me. I have to do it for them. 

So the fog doesn’t really go away. It just kind of lurks around the corner for a little bit. And I know it will show up again, but I also know I’ll get through it. 

Like right now, we’re all sitting on the sofa arguing about bake off, and I know that tomorrow could be miserable, but it doesn’t really matter. Because right now we’re all here.

**BAZ**

A non-catatonic Simon Snow really brings something different to watching bake off. 

“I don’t like him,” Bunce points at the screen. 

“He looks like he has a secret,” Simon responds. 

Bunce and I share a look over his head. He really does know how to liven up watching tv on a Saturday.

He’s leaning into my chest making cryptic statements just like this every couple of minutes. His feet are in Penelope’s lap and every once in awhile she tickles him and he kicks her. 

I’d never tell him out loud, but I love him like this. I don’t think I’d really have to tell him. I think he knows. I think I’m doing a shit job of keeping a grin off my face. And I’m sure he can feel the swallowed laughter from his position on my chest. 

But he doesn’t comment on it. 

And I don’t comment on it. 

“I bet you he doesn’t believe in global warming,” He points at someone else. 

I hide my grin in his hair. 

**PENNY**

He’s been feeling better lately. I can tell. He spends the days baking, watching tv, and snogging Baz in too many public spaces (which means I spend the week investing and using a spray bottle on them). 

I’m not deluded enough to think that he’s just over it. I know that’s not the case.

I know he’ll probably have another spiral and it will be just as awful and we’ll all be on edge. 

But it feels better this time around. It feels like we’re through something. 

One day when we’re at home alone, and for once Baz is actually at his aunt’s place where he ‘lives’, he insists that we try a new scone recipe that he’s _positive_ will be just like Watford’s.

(He says this about once a week. I think he’s getting desperate.) 

It’s less like _we’re_ making scones, and more like I’m watching him make scones. 

For all the smarts, I’m not much for baking. I mean I guess I can see it’s fun for Simon at least. And it makes him feel better. But I’m not so into it when I can go down the street and buy my own stuff. Plus kneading is bullshit. It takes forever and it’s _hard_. 

(Simon loves kneading.)

I’m watching him knead now. The scone dough is clinging to his hands, but he’s grinning. Until he stops smiling of a sudden. 

“It’s okay if you want to leave,” He says without looking up at me. 

“But you said you wanted to bake.”

“No,” He says. “I mean to America. To be with Micah. You shouldn’t be trapped here because of me.”

He’s clearly been thinking about this for a long time. He’s never this clear on the spot. 

“I don’t want to go to America,” I scrunch my nose at him. 

And it’s true. 

I don’t want to go to America. Not right now at least. Probably not ever. 

Not that Micah and I haven’t talked about it. About a little house with a pretty garden and too many books and too many children. But why can’t that house be here? I like it here. Micah likes it here. 

And I’m not staying for Simon. But that doesn’t mean he isn’t one of the reasons I’d want to stay. He’s my best friend. I just want him around. If I moved, it wouldn’t be the same. It’s not like I don’t need him. _He’s my best friend._

“You don’t?” He asks. 

“No,” I say. 

He doesn’t push it further. I know he wouldn’t want me gone. 

He places the scones into the oven more gently than I’ve ever seen him do anything in his life. 

“Why don’t you just ask Baz to get Cook Pritchard’s recipe? Aren’t they related?” 

His jaw drops open. He looks at me like I’ve just come up with something revolutionary.

I roll my eyes, “See, Simon, I couldn’t just leave you here. How would you ever have proper sour cherry scones again?”

**BAZ**

“You’re out of your mind,” I tell him.

 He’s hanging framed photos of chickens in sunglasses. 

Everytime he looks up at them he giggles. 

He has an atrocious taste in home decor. If we ever move in together, I refuse to give him any say in the decoration. I’d end up with a house full of memes and jokes. And there’d be so much sunlight and potted plants. And it would be bright and pretty. And I would make fun of him constantly. 

Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. 

“Do you like it?” He asks once he’s finished.

_Yes. Unfathomably. Ridiculously. I’d let you decorate my entire life if I got to watch you laugh and smile like that every day. I’d let you dress our children in ridiculously colorful and kitschy outfits. I’d marry you with paper rings in a courthouse._

“No,” I say instead. “Some of us have taste, Snow.”

He pouts at me, but moves so he can lean into me anyway. 

“I mean really, Snow, chickens in sunglasses,” I mock. But I press a kiss into his hair. I can never resist with him. It’ll be the death of my reputation. Of what’s left of my reputation anyway. 

“They’re cool chicks,” He giggles. I roll my eyes even though he can’t see it. 

“That doesn’t make them good decor, darling,” I tell him. 

“I’m sure when you move in here you’ll make all sorts of changes for the sake of good decor,” He laughs like he hasn’t just flipped my world upside down so casually. He’s done this like he does everything: with brute force. He’s decided what he wants and he’s telling me what will happen. 

I love this about him. 

(I love everything about him.)

“When?” I press. 

“What?” 

_Moron._

“You said _when_ I move in,” I clarify. 

“Well I figure it’s inevitable, Penny says she’s about to start charging you rent for being here this often,” He says it confidently, but I can feel his neck heating up where he’s pressed into me. 

I kiss his head again, and rub my hands up and down his sides. 

“And I just want you,” He adds. “Like all the time. I want you here.”

“Simon,” I say because I don’t know what else to add. 

“You don’t need to need to move in like now,” He tells me as though he’s putting pressure on me. “I mean just like consider it or d-”

“I want to,” I interrupt because, while I love flustered Snow, it’s good to take pity on him every once in a while. 

“You’re not allowed to take down the cool chicks,” He says immediately.

 I roll my eyes again. 

**SIMON** **  
** I send out invitations without telling Baz and Penny. 

It’s not exactly a surprise party. It’s not exactly a party at all. I just want to have friends over. I want a birthday redo. One where I don’t cry. One where I don’t ruin it. 

I send Baz and Penny out for the day with a list of innocuous tasks that actually need doing. And I spend the day cooking up appetizers and snacks, and cleaning the apartment. 

I answer the door and smile and hug and greet everyone. 

I tell Agatha I love her dress, and thank her for making time on her trip home. I tell Dev and Niall that I’m glad to see them. I tell Micah that Penny will be thrilled to see him. 

I watch Penny and Baz react to the surprise. 

I smile all night. 

I drink a beer and Baz drinks more. By the end of the night he’s drunk and happy and leaning into me much more than he normally would in public. 

“Until the bitter end,” He promises so quietly in my ear that I think I’ve misheard him. 

“What?”

“I’ll love you until the end.”  


_Here's to my friends_

_All in until the bitter end_

_Drink or two to the toast_

_Not too many though_


End file.
